The morning sun barely pierced through the thick dark clouds above the academy courtyard. Students were already gathering inside the main auditorium—an enormous hall decorated with banners of legendary villains, glowing with a sinister crimson light.
Eiden stepped into the room quietly, observing everything. The atmosphere was different today. Tighter. Sharper. As if the walls themselves were waiting for blood.
Lyric approached him from the left side, whispering,
"Be careful. Today is the announcement of Class Predation Ranking."
Eiden lifted an eyebrow. "Predation?"
Kiera joined them, adjusting her glasses with a sigh.
"It's the system that decides your fate in this academy. Every class has predators, prey, and ghosts."
Eiden swallowed. "Explain."
Kiera counted with her fingers:
1. Predators – the students who hold authority. The strongest, most cunning, most ruthless.
2. Prey – the ones targeted, bullied, or used as practice dummies.
3. Ghosts – invisible, ignored, untouched… but powerless.
Lyric leaned closer. "Your victory in the duel and the labyrinth trial made people talk. Some think you're a predator. Others think you're a fake."
Eiden forced a calm expression, though his heartbeat tightened.
Great. More attention. Exactly what I don't need.
Before he could reply, the floor vibrated.
The main teacher for Class Nightfang—Madam Selvara—appeared on stage with a slow, confident stride.
Her gaze swept across the students, razor-sharp.
"I will now announce the initial Predation Rankings. Listen carefully, children."
The entire hall froze.
Selvara lifted a dark crystal tablet glowing with red symbols.
One by one, names appeared above the students' heads like ethereal flames.
"First predator… Ragnar Hale."
Ragnar stepped forward proudly, flames flickering around his arms. He searched for Eiden immediately, lips curling into a cruel grin.
A silent message: You should've stayed down.
Eiden looked away, unfazed.
"Second predator—Aurelia Frostbane."
The silver-haired girl who had observed Eiden earlier walked with elegance, face unreadable.
Then Selvara continued reading.
Predators…
Prey…
Ghosts…
Until—
"Eiden Graves."
A chilling pause.
Whispers rose like a rising storm.
"Is he a predator?"
"No way—he's too new."
"But he defeated Ragnar once!"
"Maybe he cheated."
Selvara smiled faintly.
"Eiden Graves is classified as… Unassigned."
Gasps filled the hall.
Unassigned meant unpredictable.
Dangerous.
Unclaimed by any side.
Worst of all—it put a target on his back.
Both predators and prey would test him.
Ghosts would avoid him.
Everyone would watch him.
Lyric whispered harshly,
"That's the worst position. Everyone wants to see if you're worthy of rising or deserving to fall."
Kiera added with a trembling tone,
"If you're not careful… they'll force you into becoming prey."
Eiden exhaled slowly.
Of course. Another problem.
But before he could think further—
BANG!
A black spear of magic slammed down from the ceiling.
The floor cracked beneath it.
Selvara's eyes glowed red.
"Now that rankings are announced, Class Nightfang will proceed with today's special test."
She raised her hand. The crystal tablet vanished.
"Hunt or Be Hunted.
You have one hour.
Survive.
Or kneel."
Students erupted into chaos—laughter, threats, power flaring everywhere.
Ragnar cracked his knuckles, flames dancing wildly.
Aurelia's eyes narrowed sharply at Eiden.
Predators began choosing their targets.
Lyric grabbed Eiden's arm.
"We have to run away—now!"
But Eiden didn't move.
His eyes scanned the entire hall.
This is no longer training.
This is war disguised as education.
And if he miscalculates even once—
his disguise could shatter.
---
The moment Eiden Vale stepped deeper into the corridor, the temperature shifted—almost unnoticeably at first, but enough to make his skin prickle beneath his uniform. A slow, creeping chill slithered along the stone walls, as though the academy itself was exhaling something old and resentful.
The torches lining the walls flickered.
He kept one hand on the dagger strapped at his waist.
Not because he wanted to fight.
But because he knew he might have to.
Focus.
You belong here. You are one of them.
No fear.
That was what Master Kael had drilled into him for months. A hero infiltrating a nest of villains can't afford hesitation. Especially not here, in the academy that had trained the most monstrous minds of the last century.
Eiden slowed to a stop as the corridor forked into three identical paths.
Left.
Right.
Center.
No markings. No runes. No signs.
Just darkness.
"Great," Eiden muttered. "Classic villain academy design."
A voice echoed from behind him.
"You lost already, Vale?"
Eiden turned sharply.
It was Seraphine Drakora, leaning casually against a pillar as though the Trial wasn't about to start. Her long black hair shimmered like oil, eyes glowing faintly red—dragon blood inheritance. She wore boredom on her face like a crown.
"So?" she asked, arching a brow. "Which path are you taking?"
Eiden held her gaze, offering the faintest smirk.
"Whichever gets me to the finish line alive."
Seraphine laughed lightly. "Cute optimism."
Then she stepped past him, her boots clicking sharply on the stone floor.
"Don't die too quickly."
And she vanished into the left path without a single backward glance.
A moment later, someone else arrived.
Cassian Voss.
Eiden stiffened.
Out of all students, Cassian was the most dangerous when it came to exposing his identity.
Not because he was brilliant—but because he was suspicious of everything.
The boy approached with his hands in his pockets, eyes half-lidded but observing everything. "Vale," he said. "Still standing here?"
"Just thinking," Eiden replied.
"Thinking gets you killed. Move."
Cassian walked into the right path, disappearing into the dark.
And now Eiden was alone.
Only the center path remained unclaimed.
"Perfect," he whispered. "Middle it is."
He stepped into the center corridor.
The air shifted immediately.
This time the change was unmistakable—the oxygen thinned, the torchlight dimmed, and a low hum vibrated through the floor.
But the strangest part?
The hallway was growing wider.
No, not growing.
Unfolding.
Stone scraped against stone as the walls stretched outward, revealing a cavernous expanse that could not possibly fit inside the Academy's physical structure.
Spatial distortion, Eiden realized.
A trick used by high-level sorcerers.
So the Trial wasn't just a physical challenge.
It was a magical maze—alive, shifting, unpredictable.
Eiden took a slow breath.
Master Kael's voice echoed in his mind:
"Villain academies don't test strength. They test survival instinct. Your goal is not to win. Your goal is to return alive."
Eiden tightened his grip on the dagger and moved forward.
Step by step, the space kept shifting.
What should've been a corridor morphed into a forest of towering stone pillars, each carved with strange, moving symbols. The symbols pulsed like veins under skin—alive, aware.
A metallic groan vibrated through the room.
Eiden spun around.
The corridor behind him sealed shut, the stone knitting together like flesh.
"Okay," he muttered. "No going back."
A rumble answered him—as though the Labyrinth was amused.
Then the ground trembled.
A crack split open in front of him, and from the darkness below, something crawled up.
Long, skeletal fingers.
A twisted spine.
A skull-like face with hollow sockets that began to glow faint green.
A creature of the academy.
A security construct.
A Bone Warden.
Eiden raised his dagger instinctively.
The creature hissed, an unnatural, grinding sound that reverberated like metal shards scraping glass.
It lunged.
Eiden dodged left, narrowly avoiding the swipe of claws that carved a trench into the stone floor. The force rattled his bones.
Fast. Too fast for its size.
He slashed upward, hoping to hit a joint—
—but the creature twisted impossibly, its limbs bending like wet vines.
It whipped its tail, catching Eiden in the ribs.
Pain flared.
He hit a pillar, breath knocked out of him.
He staggered up.
Another hiss.
The Warden crouched, preparing to leap.
Eiden steadied his breathing.
He couldn't overpower it.
He couldn't outrun it.
But he could outsmart it.
He looked at the glowing runes on the pillars.
They pulsed rhythmically—almost like heartbeats.
The creature seemed drawn to them.
Are the runes powering it?
Another lunge.
Eiden rolled aside and sprinted toward the nearest pillar.
The creature followed, claws scraping.
Eiden pressed his palm against the glowing symbol.
Heat burst beneath his skin—magic rejecting his touch.
But the creature hesitated.
It jerked backward, body spasming as though the rune repelled it.
So the runes are defensive measures. Good.
Eiden moved quickly, tracing the rough lines of the symbol with his dagger.
If he could distort the rune…
The symbol flickered.
The room trembled—
—and the creature shrieked, stumbling as cracks spiderwebbed across its body.
"Got you."
The Warden collapsed, spine snapping like brittle branches.
Silence fell.
Eiden exhaled shakily.
"One problem down. Probably ninety-nine left."
He pressed on deeper into the labyrinth.
---
Minutes—or hours—passed.
Time warped strangely in the maze.
More corridors unfolded, each stranger than the last.
One corridor was filled with floating mirrors that whispered versions of his name.
Another forced Eiden to walk upside down.
Another crushed his chest with illusions of drowning.
Every trial tested something different.
Fear.
Judgment.
Identity.
But the worst came when he turned a corner and found—
A hooded figure standing in the center of the path.
Still.
Silent.
Waiting.
Eiden froze.
The air around the figure warped slightly.
A projection?
A trap?
A sentry?
He reached for his dagger.
The hooded figure lifted its head.
Eiden's heart stopped.
Because the face beneath the hood…
was his.
His real face.
Not the one altered by alchemical disguise.
Eiden Vale—the hero's son.
Exposed.
Undisguised.
Looking directly at him.
"No," Eiden whispered. "This… isn't real."
The copy moved.
It drew a blade identical to his dagger.
Eiden stepped back, pulse hammering.
The copy spoke, voice cold and perfect:
"Your mask will break."
Then it lunged.
---
Eiden didn't have time to breathe.
His copy—his true face—closed the distance with impossible speed, blade slicing through the air in a silver arc.
Eiden ducked.
Barely.
The tip of the dagger skimmed his cheek, drawing a thin line of blood that burned cold instead of warm.
Illusion magic.
No—something worse.
Something that wanted to make him bleed from the inside out.
The doppelgänger landed silently, turning with an inhuman twist of the neck, eyes glowing an unnatural white.
Eiden steadied his stance.
"Alright," he muttered. "You're not real. You're not me."
The copy tilted its head.
"I'm the part you're trying to kill."
Eiden's stomach tightened.
The figure rushed forward again.
This time Eiden blocked with his dagger—metal clashing against metal—but the impact was so strong it numbed his arm to the shoulder.
His copy was stronger.
Faster.
Perfectly aware of every technique he had ever learned.
Of course it is. It's made from me.
Eiden gritted his teeth and pushed off, creating distance.
The chamber warped around them—walls stretching, shadows twisting like living smoke.
The labyrinth was reacting to his fear.
The copy advanced, steps echoing unnaturally.
"Eiden Vale."
Hearing his real name here—inside an academy where saying it out loud meant death—sent a flash of panic through his chest.
"Pretender."
It lunged again.
Eiden sidestepped, catching the copy's wrist and twisting—
—but the copy dissolved into smoke and reformed behind him.
Cold steel kissed the back of his neck.
Eiden froze.
The copy whispered:
"A hero's son cannot survive in a world of villains."
Eiden exhaled shakily, then slammed his elbow backward.
The copy flickered—glitched—and the blade missed his spine by millimeters.
He rolled forward, spun, and slashed wide.
The room erupted with sparks as their blades collided again and again, faster than thought.
Each strike from the copy was flawless—mathematically precise, as if calculated to break him piece by piece.
Eiden's chest heaved.
His copy didn't seem to need to breathe at all.
This is bad. If I fight him directly, I lose. Every time.
The labyrinth whispered around him—voices like memories not his own.
Villains survive by cheating.
Heroes survive by sacrifice.
What will you choose, Eiden Vale?
He shook the words out of his head.
He needed to think.
He needed to outsmart himself.
He scanned the chamber.
The walls were covered in runes again—similar to the ones that weakened the Bone Warden.
But these were different.
These symbols pulsed not with power… but with emotion.
Fear.
Doubt.
Regret.
His regret.
The labyrinth feeds on identity.
If it created his copy…
then maybe it could break it too.
The doppelgänger charged again, blade raised.
Eiden sprinted—not toward the enemy, but toward the wall.
The copy followed instantly.
The moment Eiden reached the nearest rune, he pressed his palm against it.
A shockwave rippled through the chamber.
The copy staggered mid-step, its form flickering like a corrupted hologram.
Eiden didn't hesitate.
He slashed.
The copy parried—
—but slower this time.
Imperfect.
"Got you…" Eiden breathed.
The doppelgänger snarled—an emotionless, broken sound—and lunged wildly.
Eiden dodged, jumped toward another rune, and slammed his blade into it.
The whole chamber shuddered.
The copy screamed—not a human scream, but a ripping, tearing resonance like metal twisting inside bone.
Pieces of its skin cracked off like dried paint.
It wasn't flesh.
It wasn't magic.
It was memory.
A memory of who Eiden feared he really was.
One more rune.
Eiden sprinted across the chamber, the copy limping after him, form unraveling.
Just as he reached the third rune—
The copy regained a burst of speed and tackled him from behind.
They crashed to the floor, blades scattering across stone.
Eiden choked as a cold hand closed around his throat.
The copy leaned over him, face splitting with fractures of glowing light.
"You are lying to everyone."
Eiden clawed at the hand, stars bursting in his vision.
"You can't hide forever."
Eiden reached blindly—fingers brushing the base of the rune carved into the floor beside him.
His voice rasped:
"Watch me."
He slammed his palm onto the rune.
Light exploded outward.
The doppelgänger convulsed violently, its body shattering in a cascade of white shards that dissolved like ash.
And then—
Silence.
The labyrinth stilled.
The whispers faded.
Eiden lay on his back, chest burning for air.
Slowly, shakily, he sat up.
The three runes he had triggered were now dark—deactivated.
But the room… was changing.
The pillars retracted.
The shadows pulled back like a tide.
A new doorway appeared ahead, carved in thorn-shaped patterns.
He had passed the chamber.
Barely.
Eiden wiped the blood from his cheek and forced himself to stand.
His legs trembled.
His hands shook.
But he was alive.
And more importantly—
No one had seen his real face.
He took a long, steadying breath and stepped through the new doorway.
The passage ahead was narrow, lit by cold blue flames.
Each flame flickered as he passed, as if watching him.
Eventually, the corridor opened into a second chamber—circular, with a raised platform at the center.
Floating above it was a glowing crystal.
A Trial Core.
Eiden approached cautiously.
The Core pulsed once—
—and the room sealed behind him.
An echoing voice boomed:
"TRIAL OF IDENTITY COMPLETED."
Eiden froze.
The crystal dimmed, then flared again.
"PREPARING NEXT STAGE."
"What—next stage?" Eiden muttered. "Already?"
He hadn't fully recovered.
His ribs burned.
His lungs still felt bruised.
The platform beneath him shifted, gears clicking like teeth grinding.
"WARNING: MULTIPLE PARTICIPANTS APPROACHING."
Eiden stiffened.
Footsteps echoed from the corridors around him.
Not one set.
Not two.
Many.
Cassian?
Seraphine?
Other students?
Or worse—
A team.
Someone shouted from beyond the doorway:
"He's already inside! Hurry!"
Eiden's heart lurched.
They weren't just entering.
They were hunting him.
The room's torches ignited, revealing three entrances.
All three had silhouettes rushing toward him.
The Trial Core lit up again.
"TRIAL OF CONFRONTATION INITIATING."
Eiden whispered:
"…oh no."
The doors burst open.
Three groups of students stormed in—faces fierce, weapons drawn, eyes gleaming with the hunger to dominate.
Eiden Vale stood alone in the center of the chamber.
Surrounded.
Exhausted.
And outnumbered ten to one.
He swallowed hard.
Villain academy tradition…
He remembered what one student had whispered on their first day:
"During the Trials… students hunt each other."
The first challenger stepped forward, smirking wickedly.
"Vale," the girl drawled. "You're bleeding. Perfect. Makes this easier."
Eiden tightened his grip on his dagger.
His pulse steady.
His mind sharp.
No escape.
No backup.
Only survival.
The Trial Core glowed ominously.
"BEGIN."
The challengers charged.
Eiden exhaled once—
—then moved.
---